Final Bright Eyes LP shines

As the leader of Bright Eyes, Conor Oberst has spent his young adulthood trying to unlock the truth behind the big questions of life using virtually every musical style under the sun.

Following a period of band-hopping and stylistic redefining after 2007’s sonically bloated “Cassadaga,” Oberst has dusted off the Bright Eyes moniker to release “The People’s Key.” In doing so, he has crafted a triumph.

Bright Eyes’ latest outing expertly blends the best elements of its eclectic catalogue. The masterful wordplay of “Lifted” and “I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning,” stark accessibility of “Fevers and Mirrors,” ghostly electro-psychedelia of “Digital Ash in a Digital Urn” and thematic brashness of “Cassadaga” combine to produce something captivating, surreal and jarringly beautiful.

A spoken-word narrative on the origins of the human race, subjective time control, alien evolution and clashing dimensions delivered in a down-home drawl by a friend of Oberst’s opens the album, setting the other-worldly tone that dominates its compact 47 minutes.

The intro seamlessly dissolves into the Nirvana-esque, minor-key mind trip of the outstanding “Firewall,” sending listeners rolling off into the abyss of Oberst’s often nightmarish psyche. “In the sunshine, try to act normal,” Oberst slurs while his “veins are full of flat cherry cola.”

From there, the poet laureate of Gen Y postmodernism mixes buoyant rockers (the synth-driven “Shell Games,” sunshine-tinged basement punk of “Jejune Stars” and infectious “Triple Spiral”), acid dreamscapes (the hauntingly sparse “Approximated Sunlight”), and lilting modern folk (“A Machine Spiritual” and “One for You, One for Me”) to tackle themes ranging from his own mortality to Rastafarianism.

Amid the jangling instrumentalism and weighty musings that define “The People’s Key,” its standout track comes in the form of a stark, painfully poignant ballad consisting solely of Oberst’s trademark warble and a soft piano. On “Ladder Song,” listeners are led through a blurred maze of religion, friendship and universal empathy.

“You’re not alone in anything / You’re not alone in trying to be,” Oberst comfortingly reassures his generation, sounding like a young man whose personal knowledge has finally caught up with his precocious thirst for its attainment.

On “The People’s Key,” Bright Eyes manages to remind fans that are inclined to write off their past enthrallment with Oberst as “just another phase of theirs” of his continued relevance to their ever-evolving lives. As his audience grows up around him, so does Oberst, sounding impossibly in-touch with himself and his times every step of the way.